Drowning in the Remnants
by JonWilhoit
Summary: A charactersketch of how a shadowrunner discusses with her stepfather the changes she has undergone since she started life in the biz.


Standing before the apartment door, Kat tried not to sigh as she reached out with a slightly quaking hand to hit the doorbell.  As the electronic chime sounded, she shoved her hands in her jacket pockets to wait.

Scant moments later she could hear the maglock disengage, and the door opened to reveal a deeply tanned Asian man in his fifties.  His face had been creased by time and his hair and mustache had turned to salt and pepper, but even though he looked drained, his bright eyes still had a kind of familiar warmth to them.  Her stepfather smiled, "Katherine.  To what do I owe the pleasure?"

 "Just stopping by to say hi," she said, mouth quirking in a slight smile.

 "If you're looking for your mother, she's still in the hospital," he said as he stepped aside and let her slip in.  "I came home to rest for a little while."

Kat nodded, "Yeah, I just came from visiting with her.  She told me you would be here."

 "Oh?"

 "Yeah, well . . . I just wanted to thank you for getting me in contact with Arturo.  Even though I didn't need his help, it was good knowing he was around just in case."

He smiled, "I'm just happy you came back safely.  Arturo owes me a lot of money, but we both know I probably won't see a dime of it.  It was the least he could do."  He bent forward and gave Kat a kiss on the cheek.

 "Well then, would you like something to drink?" he asked as he made his way into the living room. 

 Kat followed him in and found a seat on the couch.  "Yeah—something strong."

"Scotch alright?"

She nodded. 

He poured two glasses and brought them over, handing Kat hers before he sat down in the armchair across from her.  "Now, I know you didn't come all the way over here just to tell me thanks. You could have done that over the phone.  Something's bothering you."  

She took a swig of her drink before replying, savoring the warmth that spread down her chest with each swallow.  "Something happened while I was . . . out of town.," she said slowly. 

Her stepfather leaned back in his seat, "I thought as much."

She took another sip before continuing as if to calm her nerves.  "I had to shoot some one . . . and--"

"And now you feel guilty for it," her stepfather finished for her.

She shook her head.  "No, that's not it."

He furrowed his brow, "Then what?"

"It was just the opposite.  God, I _wish_ I felt guilty about it.  No, I. . . I stood there ten feet away from the man, and I shot him.  I blew a hole in the middle of his chest . . . and I felt nothing.  It was like I was numb—no sadness, no remorse, nothing.  It was just like taking out the fucking garbage—a menial chore that didn't deserve a second thought."

She kept her eyes downcast, intent upon the drink in her hand.

Her stepfather was silent a moment as if trying to decide what to say.  At last he spoke.  "After a while, this kind of business has a way of hardening your heart."

Kat hardly felt comforted, but she pressed on anyway.  "I've never actually shot anyone before now.  I've fired a gun plenty of times, but nothing like this.  I mean, the guy was on the ground.  He'd already taken a shot to the shoulder, and his pelvis must have been shattered the way he was moving."  Her eyes took on a distant look as she relived the incident in her mind.  "But somehow he was crawling, trying to get to back to the radio in his jeep.  I didn't yell for him to stop.  I didn't even think about it.  I just shot him."

For a minute, the only sound in the room was the ice clinking in their glasses.

Several times her stepfather pursed his lips as if he wanted to say something, but stopped.  Finally he broke the silence, "You were never the most emotionally receptive child."

Kat looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time.  "So you're saying I've always been this way?  A heartless bitch?"

"Whoa now, I didn't say that.  Don't turn my words around like that."

Kat sighed and drained the rest of her drink.  She set the glass down on the table before leaning forward to cradle her head in her hands.  "I tell myself that I'm doing all of this shit for mom's sake, so that we can pay all those god damn hospital bills.  But am I really?  Am I doing this because I actually love her, or because I want to _feel_ like I love her, like I have an attachment to something in this world other than my own fucking self?  If I were really the loving child I should be, I would have sold my car, liquidated assets, _something_ other than start killing people for a living.  Hell, I'm not even doing it all for mom.  I've got a new sport's car for Christ's sake." 

"Yeah, I've seen that Porsche you're driving now," he said with a quiet smile.  "You've come through for everything we've needed, though.  There's no reason you shouldn't treat yourself well.  Anyway, you seem to feel guilty enough about this.  That seems to indicate an emotional attachment, so how can you say you feel nothing for your mother?"

Kat shook her head, "I don't know.  Is it possible to feel guilty for not feeling guilty?"  She gave a humorless laugh at the absurdity of her own question.

He took a moment to think before responding in all seriousness, "I don't know that there's much distinction.  It's still guilt.  You've been through a lot in your life.  Maybe it's an emotional reaction to all of that hardship.  Maybe you're trying to protect yourself from further pain.  I don't know for sure.  I'm no psychologist.  But maybe you should just take some time to think about it."

"But I _have_ been thinking about it, and all I come up with are more questions

"Alright, then just try _not_ thinking about it.  Either way, you're being too hard on yourself."

"Maybe you're right," she said with a sigh.  "Maybe I should quit thinking about this shit for a while and just concentrate on living.  Maybe then I can sift through all the bullshit and make some sense of it."

He gave her a slight smile, "It might be the best thing."

The conversation lapsed into silence.  For a long while, Kat just sat there staring at her glass on the table.  As she watched, the ice cubes slowly began to diminish in size as they melted.  Watching the water pool around the ever-shrinking ice, it suddenly dawned on her that her life was taking a similar route.  She used to have defined ideals to structure her life around.  Things were simple.  She knew she loved her family.  She knew she wasn't a killer.  She didn't have to worry about why she felt heartless inside.   But those certainties had begun to melt, congealing into a morass of doubts.  It was as if all of the assurances of her youth had suddenly melted away, and she was drowning in the remnants.  Maybe this was just who she really was, and she was just finding out now.  Whatever it was, she would have to find some way to start treading water, or she was going to slip beneath the surface and drown beneath it all. 

Still, she didn't want to think about it anymore.  It was depressing.  She just wanted to go home, slot a chip, do something to get her mind off of all the shit in life.  It hurt too much to think.

Finally Kat stood up, giving her stepfather a brave smile.  "Listen, I should be going, but thanks.  Thanks for the drink—and the advice.  I feel better," she lied.

His smile broadened as he stood to envelop her in a parting hug, "Anytime."

Kat paused on the way to the door, glancing back over her shoulder.  "You won't tell Mom about this, will you?"

"Your secret's safe with me."

She managed to plaster a fake smile on her face as she waved him goodbye, then opened the door and slipped out into the hallway.


End file.
